


Heavy Home

by WanderingJane



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alfred is the best, Angst, Family, Gen, it happens a lot more often than I'd like to admit, sometimes I make myself sad about Jason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 13:51:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4394372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingJane/pseuds/WanderingJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two moments shared between Jason and Alfred.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heavy Home

**Author's Note:**

> Title from The Spring Standards' song of the same name.

The first time Alfred sets down a bowl of steaming soup in front of him, Jason stares at it with wary eyes, and all but flinches away from Alfred. His gaze darts up to the older man's patient, if slightly confused gaze, before returning to the soup. A quick sniff doesn't reveal anything strange in it, but Jason still doesn't touch it.

"If the soup is not to your liking, I can prepare something else," Alfred says.

Jason just shakes his head and pushes the bowl further away from him.

" 'm not hungry," he says even as he digs his fingers to his aching stomach. He can't remember the last time he ate. Yesterday morning, maybe? 

Alfred raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything. When he sits down across from Jason and pulls the bowl over to him, Jason panics and snatches the spoon from the table, clenching it in his hand. It’s a poor excuse for a weapon, but it's all Jason has. 

"If you don't mind, I'm famished, and it would be a shame for the food to go to waste," Alfred says, dipping the spoon into the bowl as he speaks. Jason's eyes narrow and he stares at the spoon, making sure there's actually soup in it, that it isn't a trick. As soon as he swallows the first spoonful of the bright red liquid, Jason exhales shakily, confused and relieved all at once. "Are you quite certain you aren't hungry, master Jason? It's very good, if I do say so myself, and I’m afraid I made far too much for one person."

Jason fidgets in his seat and glances over at the large pot sitting on the stove. It smells really good. He wants to say yes, but the words get confused in his mouth and he winds up blurting out, “Why are you doing this?”

"I beg your pardon?"

"I stole Batman’s tires,” Jason says, “And hit him with a tire iron. And then ran away. Why - why did he bring my here? And why are you giving me food? It’s not even poisoned or anything.” The words trail off when he realizes what he’s said, and he ducks his head to hide his blushing cheeks. He wasn't afraid of Batman - he _wasn't_ \- but Jason did try to steal his tires and, well, Batman didn't seem like the forgiving type and -

The gloved hand that touches his shoulder is gentle, but it still makes Jason jump back, his hand knocking over the bowl of soup as he flails for balance. 

“Shit, sorry, sorry,” he says as he tries to clean up the mess with a cloth napkin. 

“No, it is I who should apologize. I was not my intention to startle you. Allow me,” he says, taking the napkin out of his hand. “As to your earlier query, master Bruce is aware of your living situation and I suspect would like to offer you a place to stay.”

“What, here?” Jason says, looking around at the kitchen, the only warm place in the big, empty house. “But _why_? Why me?”

“That is something only master Bruce can answer,” Alfred replies. He gets up and spoons more soup into another bowl. “While we wait for him to return, would you like to try the soup?” 

Jason only hesitates for a couple seconds before he nods. The tightness in his chest unfurls a little when Alfred smiles at him. The two of the sit together, in the big kitchen in the impossibly huge mansion, and eat the soup in companionable silence.

-

Jason’s had a really shitty night, the kind where he wonders why he even bothers trying to fix Gotham, if the city's even worth it. The familiar heaviness on his chest nearly suffocates him, and the aching in his bones makes him want to just collapse on top of a random building and sleep until the sun rises. Which is in, oh, two hours. 

He doesn't want to go back to his apartment or any of the safe houses he has around the city, doesn't want to face the cold, lonely emptiness that'll greet him there. 

Later, he'll blame it on how tired he was, how he didn't even realize where he was going until he found himself breaking into Wayne Manor with an ease that would give Bruce grey hairs. But for the moment, Jason doesn't try to make up excuses for himself. He disables alarms, breaks several locks, pries open a window, and darts through long, dark hallways until he's standing in Alfred's perpetually warm kitchen. 

The lights are off, but Jason can still make out the gleaming silver pot on the stove. With an exhausted grin, he pries off his helmet and lets it clatter on the wooden table, too tired to care about the noise. 

He's only gotten as far as taking the lid off the pot when the lights flick on. Jason tenses for a moment, not wanting to deal with Bruce's bullshit tonight, but immediately relaxes when the person speaks.

"Master Jason?" Alfred asks.

"Hey, Alf. What're you still doing up?" 

"I was assisting Master Bruce a short while ago."

Jason tenses. "He still here?" 

"No, he left for patrol." He finally tears his eyes away from the pot and turns to look at Alfred. 

"I can go if you want me to."

"Nonsense. I am always happy to see you," Alfred says, and Jason has to turn his head to hide whatever expression shadows his face. There's a ladle hanging on a rack above the stove, and Jason grabs at it, desperate to keep his hands busy.

"I've missed you, Alfred," he says, so quiet he's not sure if Alfred heard him. 

"And I you, Master Jason," Alfred says, his voice much closer than it was before. He gently takes the ladle from Jason's hand, and dips it into the pot. "Would you like to join me for a bowl of soup? I'm famished." Jason almost smiles. It's the same trick Alfred used to get Jason to eat when he'd first arrived at the manor. 

"Sure, Alf," is all he says. He pulls up a chair and lets himself drop into it, the exhaustion of the night creeping back into his muscles. 

"Here we are," Alfred says, setting down two bowls. Jason drags the spoon to him, and slurps at the soup while Alfred gives him a look that is both exasperated and unbearably fond. They sit across from each other and eat in easy, familiar silence - so different from the stifling one that waits for him back in his apartment - and for one fleeting moment, Jason doesn't feel so alone.


End file.
